The Long Con
by avocadomoon
Summary: "Some people just aren't cut out for peace and quiet," Jackie said. [Leverage fusion for fleurting]


As usual, he heard her before he saw her: the sharp peal of a laugh that spilled out into the alleyway before the door was even open. Eric pushed himself off the wall and waited, and saw the exact moment that she noticed him: shoulders snapping straight back, her chin going up. She flipped her hair, raised an eyebrow, and grabbed her co-star's elbow in a grip that made Eric wince from halfway across the street.

"So annoying," she said, "I thought the director _mentioned_ we wouldn't be doing stage door meet and greets tonight."

"Huh?" Bradley Noble, age thirty-two, New York City College graduate, GPA 3.2, Libra. "Since when do we _ever_ \- "

"Sorry, no autographs tonight," Jackie said, pulling poor Bradley down the stairs by one arm. "I'm on vocal rest."

"Yeah, I can see how you'd wanna give it a rest after that last closing number," Eric replied, watching in amusement as Bradley visibly got fed up and stopped short at the foot of the stairs, forcing Jackie to pause long enough for Eric to intercept them both. "I've never heard _Don't Cry for Me Argentina_ butchered so badly. Mrs. Windingham would've been appalled."

"Mrs. Windingham was a washed up Broadway wannabe who resented every student she ever had, but especially me," Jackie snapped. "She was jealous of talent. Also, like you know anything about musicality anyway. You still listen to _hair metal._"

Eric grinned up at her, reaching up to rest one hand against the railing, effectively blocking her exit. "Long time no see, Jackie."

"Could've stood a lot longer," Jackie said crisply.

Bradley, standing between them, startled. "Jackie?" He turned, brow furrowed. "I thought your name was Melissa?"

Eric snorted, and Jackie shot him another dirty look.

"Thanks a lot," she said. "It's a nickname," she said to Bradley.

"Yeah, instead of calling her 'Mel,' I decided to call her a completely different name altogether," Eric said, amused. "One that's completely different in every conceivable way."

"Oh, shut up," Jackie shot at him, crossing her arms.

"Oookay," Bradley said, his hands flying up, palms open. "None of my business. I'm gonna leave now."

"Probably a good idea, Bradley," Eric said, and very courteously, waited until the guy had vanished around the corner before he said anything else.

Jackie beat him to it. "You ass," she said, and shoved his shoulder hard enough that he had to grip the railing tighter to keep from stumbling. "I've spent six months building up this ID, and now you've gone and shit all over it just to make a joke - "

"I thought you were legit now?" Eric asked, dodging another shove. He caught her wrist on the downswing and raised an eyebrow, waiting until she huffed in frustration to let her go. Her sharp sigh blows her bangs up off her forehead briefly, revealing a smear of stage makeup she'd missed in her dressing room. "No, don't tell me - you're doing a _test run._"

"What are you doing here, Eric?" Jackie asked tiredly, descending the final few steps, setting them on even footing. Eric always forgot how short she was until he saw her in person again; standing on level ground, she barely came up to his shoulder. She always seemed much bigger and taller in his memories. "I _am_ legit, or close enough, for your information. I've been laying low since that mess in New York, which I'm _sure_ you already know about."

"Everyone knows about that," Eric said, not without sympathy. Three weeks in Rikers and she hadn't even gotten away with the money - it was everyone's favorite bar story, not even days after her aliases popped up on the wires. Not her finest moment, to say the least. "I can't stop by for a visit? Have coffee with an old friend?"

Jackie's face softened. "Friend?" she asked, mostly rhetorically. Off her shoulder, there was a small bag stuffed so full the seams looked about ready to pop. She was wearing sneakers and a dress several seasons out of style - maybe New York really was a blow, Eric thought. "Is this about Donna? Because I haven't heard from her. Not since the last time you asked me."

Eric's chest contracted, just for a second. "No. I know exactly where _she_ is."

Silence fell for a long moment, and the wind blew up between them in the alleyway, whipped into a frenzy by the sharp corners. Jackie shivered, shot him one more long, considered look, and then shrugged.

"Okay," she said. "Coffee then. You're buying though."

"Fine by me. I know a good place."

"Good coffee? In this neighborhood?" Jackie scoffed. "They put creamer in motor oil around here and call it a latte."

"Sounds like home," Eric said cheerfully. "That sludge Red used to brew in the mornings? Sometimes I buy Chock Full 'O Nuts, when I'm feeling homesick."

"Like you've ever felt homesick in your life," Jackie scoffed. She shoved her bag into his arms. "If you're kidnapping me the least you can do is carry this."

"I'm not kidnapping you, I'm just buying you coffee," Eric protested.

"Hah! Yeah right. I might be legit now but I'm still not an idiot."

"I would never think such a thing of you, Jackie," Eric replied, leading the way towards the alleyway. "And I'm not, by the way."

"An idiot?" Jackie asked, with a barking laugh.

"Legit," Eric replied, and turned the corner. Jackie tripped on one of her heels, and Eric smirked out into the night, doing her the favor of not looking back.

* * *

"This _is_ about Donna, isn't it," Jackie said.

"No. I told you it wasn't."

"She's just waiting for you to get your shit together and move back to Chicago," Jackie said. "I haven't heard from her since - you know - but I know how she thinks, and if you would just - "

"Jackie, I didn't come here for relationship advice," Eric interrupted, rolling his eyes at her from across the table. "I have a job offer for you."

"A job offer? For me?" Jackie leaned back as the waitress approached, studying him through narrow, dark eyes as their coffee cups get refilled.

"You two doin' alright?" the waitress asked.

"A loaded question," Jackie replied.

Eric smiled up at her. "We're fine, hon. Thanks." The waitress popped her gum at them, rolled her eyes, and walked away. "You know, you're hands down the rudest grifter I've ever met. Isn't the point to make people _like_ you?"

"You have a very shallow understanding of what it is I do, don't you?" Jackie replied, her eyes still narrow. "And I'm an actress now, not a grifter."

"You and I both know that isn't your stage."

"It is for now!" Jackie snapped, her voice edging towards shrill. "Eric, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Offering you a job," Eric replied, folding his hands on the laminate tabletop. "Didn't I mention that?"

Jackie frowned, looking sympathetic and a little conflicted, her face thrown into even sharper angles than usual by the dodgy lighting in the cafe. "I'm sorry about Rebecca."

Eric had to work to keep his reaction off his face. "I saw you at the funeral."

"Yeah. That's the last time I saw Donna." Jackie took a sip of her coffee, her expression still heavy. "I thought about getting in touch, but then I heard you were getting edged out at K&F, and I figured you wouldn't want to hear from me."

"I probably wouldn't have taken it well at the time, no," Eric admitted. "Why didn't you talk to me then? At the service? I know you saw me. I saw you. You weren't being subtle."

Jackie looked a bit shamefaced. "I talked to your dad."

Red, who'd taken it harder than anyone expected, had spent most of his granddaughter's funeral halfway into a bottle - the first time he'd drank alcohol in almost ten years. It hadn't escaped Eric's attention that Jackie - who'd shown up fifteen minutes late, windswept but solemn-faced - had spent most of her time sitting at Red's side, keeping him quiet while Kitty wrangled the rest of the crowd, and Eric and Donna just tried to keep each other standing upright.

A bleak memory. Eric didn't like to remember it at all, if he could help it.

"This isn't about Donna, and it's not about Rebecca," Eric said. "I have a team - "

"Are you still drinking?" Jackie demanded.

"No," Eric replied, pulling his medallion, hanging from a chain, out from beneath his shirt. "Like I said, I have a team - "

"Just because you carry that thing around doesn't mean you're not still drinking - "

"I'm sober, Jackie," Eric said. "And I've got Caroline."

"You've got Caroline," Jackie repeated flatly. "Psycho Caroline? _Nobody_ gets Caroline."

"I got Caroline," Eric said smugly, taking a long drink of coffee. He smirked as he set it back down. "Admit it. This place is good, right?"

Jackie just shook her head. "The warrant in New York is still fresh."

"Then what the fuck are you still doing in the States?" Eric scoffed. "Don't underestimate me. I know about your little affair with the _detective_."

Jackie gritted her teeth. "Well if you're so goddamn good at being a criminal now, then why don't you just handle this _job_ by yourself? Oh - sorry, I forgot. You and _Psycho Caroline_ can handle it - "

"Don't call her that, she's on mood stabilizers now," Eric said. "She's actually kind of nice. Much less off-putting, although she still makes those weird sex jokes all the time. And I've got two others, too - a computer guy, a hitter - "

"Who?" Jackie demanded, then flinched. "No, don't tell me."

" - Buddy Morgan, you remember him - from Budapest? - and my hitter is an old friend of Red's, a guy he knew in the service," Eric said. "He's been working private security since his discharge. Wants to branch out."

Jackie is quiet for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "Who's the mark?"

At this, Eric finally squirmed. Hopefully not visibly enough that she noticed, although he would never try to fool himself that he was better at hiding that than Jackie was at spotting it. "Zachary Andreas."

Jackie blinked once, then twice. Then she carefully sat her coffee cup down on the table, grabbed her bag from the floor, and slid out of the booth.

"Jackie, come on." Eric grabbed her wrist, but she yanked it away, striding determinedly towards the door. Digging a twenty out of his pocket, Eric tossed it on the table and hurried after her.

He didn't catch up with her until the parking lot. "Would you just hear me out, at least?!"

"You have got to be shitting me," Jackie replied, tossing it over her shoulder. She was making a beeline for the bus stop, which was such a surreal, slightly sad thought - Jackie Burkhart on a _public bus,_ for fuck's sake - that Eric doubled his stride to cut her off, just for his own peace of mind. "You're something else, you know that? You blow my cover for this?"

"Oh, I didn't blow your cover, come on. You can tell Bradley I'm a weirdo ex-boyfriend or something." Eric caught her waist as she tried to dodge around him, pulling her behind an SUV. She didn't fight him, but she did glare up at him, her face sharp and suspicious. "It's not what you think."

"Really? You're not throwing your whole life away to go after the guy who killed your daughter?" Jackie asked. She tossed her bag to the ground and pushed him back a few steps, crossing her arms defensively. "Because that's literally like, the facts of what you're doing. Correct me if I'm wrong - "

"It fell into my lap," Eric said, feeling his blood rise up hot and sick at hearing it put so bluntly. Nobody but Jackie would dare to say it like that - so matter of factly. One of the reasons he'd left Donna, in fact, was how much he couldn't fucking _stand_ how everyone just talked around it - his wife included. "I wasn't seeking this out. Caroline came to me for help - "

Jackie scoffed lightly.

"Shut up and listen to me," Eric said, stepping back into her space again. Jackie backed up slightly, into the car, her hair tumbling over one shoulder as her chin tilted up, a sharp right angle to her collarbone. "She really was in trouble. A bad job with the Moreau outfit. She came to me because she wanted help going clean, but - things went south, and suddenly I'm on the hook. Sink or swim - that's how you put it, right? Back in the day, when you first got in the game?"

Jackie looked, if anything, even angier at that. "You had a wife," she hissed. "A family. And you threw it away for _Caroline fucking Dupree?_"

"I had _nothing,_" Eric snapped, reaching out with his fist to pound the metal of the car door, an angry spark beneath his skin. Jackie didn't even flinch. "I had _absolutely_ nothing. My kid is fucking _dead,_ Jackie. She's dead."

Jackie's face looked frozen, almost carved from stone. Slowly, she reached out to touch Eric's arm, curling her fingers loosely around his wrist until he relaxed and lowered it back to his side. "I know. I know, Eric."

Eric wiped one hand across his face, trying to breathe evenly, slowly, like the tapes all said. The goddamn fucking tapes. He hated the fucking tapes. "They were gonna kill her, Jackie. You know what Moreau's like. What was I supposed to do?"

Jackie sighed. "White knight," she muttered. "Still such a hero, after all these years." She rubbed her own temple then, leaning a little more heavily against the car. "So then what. You went into business together?"

"With her and Morgan. Yeah." Eric shook his head. "It works - better than you'd think. We take clean jobs - people who deserve it. Robin Hood cases, you know." He grinned at her derisive snort. "I know."

"Han fucking Solo," Jackie said, sounding incredulous. "How long? Why the hell didn't you _call me?_"

"Why the hell didn't you call _me?_" Eric countered. "It's been almost a year. I thought you were dead for awhile, you know." She scoffed again. "Don't fucking laugh - I mean it. That thing down in Miami?"

She sobered. "How was I supposed to know you would even find out about that? I thought you were still in Chicago. Retired."

"I've been chasing you all around the world for half my life," Eric replied, reaching out to nudge her gently with one of his knees. Her mouth twitches, and she turns her face away, her arms still crossed defensively across her chest. "It's hard to break a habit like that. Especially when you started to make it so easy."

"I didn't know you were still watching," Jackie said, sounding a little flustered, of all things. Eric smiled down at her, his chest tight with fondness. "Besides, you were trying to get me arrested back then. _You_ might have found that fun, but me on the other hand - "

"Don't lie," Eric interrupted. "You had fun too. I know you did."

Jackie sniffs, in lieu of answering. "So your new boy band found a way for you to lay some hurt on Andreas? That's your excuse."

Eric sighed. "Actually, his ex-wife came to _us,_" he said. "She wants to leave him, but he's got sex tapes that he's threatening to release if she does - plus she's pregnant now, which complicates things - "

"What a charmer," Jackie muttered.

"Yeah." Eric's mood darkened. "It's not just about Rebecca. I mean, it is about Rebecca. Everything is always just a little bit about Rebecca." He clears his throat, feeling that old familiar burning in his eyes. "But it's more about making sure he doesn't hurt anyone else."

Jackie was quiet for a long, long moment. "I looked into him, you know," she said. "I wanted to see if there was something I could do."

"I figured you would."

"But the guy's got _diplomatic immunity,_ Eric," Jackie continued. "Real shit. Knows the president kinda shit. And it's not as if he's the only rich guy in the world who likes to get blasted and go on joyrides," Jackie said. "He had enough money to make you and Donna go away. To make K&F drop you. What makes you think you can take him down now?"

"Because," Eric said, deliberately pronouncing each word, forming each syllable crisply so she heard every decibel. "Now, I've got nothing to lose."

Jackie's face darkened. "And that's exactly why I just tried to walk away," she said.

"But you'll help me anyway."

"Yes, I'll help you anyway." She reached out and touched his arm again, her face shadowed and sad. "Robin Hood, huh? You know, I once spent six months living in Dubai with twin heiresses with a _gorgeous_ collection of late 15th century Gothic jewelry, and they called me 'Maid Marian.' Mostly because they couldn't pronounce my alias, but they watched a _lot_ of Disney movies, so I chose to take it as a compliment."

"Caroline already claimed Marian," Eric said. "Afraid you'll have to pick something else."

Jackie narrowed her eyes. "Well, Caroline can go fuck herself."

"Off to a great start," Eric said.

* * *

Jackie's version of "lying low" meant, apparently, a deluxe suite at the most expensive hotel in town. Since Eric had been sleeping in his car most of the trip due to an unfortunate flagging of his last good credit card, he wasn't going to complain.

"I can't believe you actually watched my play," Jackie said, sounding dangerously close to sentimental. "I didn't see you in the crowd."

"Really? I'm surprised, since there were only like, five of us there."

"We're a small troupe, still gaining momentum," Jackie said breezily, opening the door with a flick of her wrist, casting a careful glance over one shoulder as she ushers him inside. "Besides, that's all part of the strategy, Eric. I'm a wanted woman, remember? Can't be letting my _true_ talent shine."

Eric snorted. Inside, the room was pristine - the only signs of her presence being the slightly rumpled pillows on the bed, and another small, well-worn bag on a low table, neatly folded clothes visible through the open flap. "How are you paying for this? Your accounts are still frozen, right?"

"Same way you paid for your plane ticket here, I'd wager," Jackie said, setting her purse down next to its companion. "Besides, my detective's working on that."

"Uh huh."

"I have several other things in the works too - I just need to let the heat die down a little before I can catch a flight overseas," Jackie said. "Wait until they cover up my picture with someone else's, on those sad little corkboards at the airports."

"That's your plan? Skip out, live off your Cayman accounts?" Eric scoffed. "Come on. I thought that was your retirement fund."

"And the alternative is what - actually going legit?" Jackie shuddered. "I'd die first."

"Wow."

"Well, you don't have room to be judgmental anymore," Jackie said pointedly. "You want room service? It's open all night."

"No." Eric wandered over to the little fridge, picking up one of the little water bottles sitting next to the small coffee pot. "Were you really in Rikers? Three whole weeks?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Jackie said, with another shudder. "The jumpsuits alone were traumatizing."

Eric turned on one heel to regard her. "That was around the time Caroline and I were tangling with Moreau. If it hadn't been for that, you know I would've tried to help."

"I probably wouldn't have welcomed it." Jackie swallowed, sinking down into one of the chairs around the small dining table by the window. "So you and Donna."

Eric sighed. "Come on, not this again - "

"She's not dating anyone else," Jackie persisted. "I know - I keep tabs on her. She's working at the newspaper again - she cut her hair, it looks adorable - "

"Jackie, we were on our way to divorce long before Rebecca died," Eric said. "Even if it hadn't happened, this still would've been where we ended up."

Jackie huffed. "Well, that's just - "

"Why do you care?" he interrupted, rolling the water bottle between his palms. "Donna still thinks you're a fucking hairstylist in Orlando, for God's sake. It's not like you're still close."

"You never told her the truth?" Jackie blinked in surprise. "I would've thought - the second you found me, that first time in Canada - "

"Yeah. Well," Eric said shortly, "like I said. We've been on our way here for a long time."

Jackie was quiet for a moment, pinching her bottom lip between two fingers. "You know," she said, "my dad - he wasn't a nice guy, but he loved my mom. She knew all his shit. The night before he got arrested, she was right there next to him, loading up the car with all the valuables, burning paperwork in the fireplace. The only reason she didn't go down with him is because he kept her name off all the financials."

"A partnership of equals," Eric said wryly, pointing the bottle at her with a wink. "Donna didn't want my shit. And I didn't want hers. That was the difference, probably."

Jackie kicked the other chair out with one foot. "Sit down, Eric. Let's order some steak or something."

Even as a criminal, Eric was still too obliging for his own good; he sat.

As far back as Eric could remember, Jackie had always done the same thing whenever she ate, no matter where she was or what kind of meal was in front of her: napkin on her lap, legs crossed, and a delicate clearing of her throat before the first bite. Watching the familiar ritual, Eric thought back to the fourteen-year-old version of her, daintily pulling her bushy hair back right before she devoured half a package of orange Popsicles Michael Kelso dug out of the deep freeze for her. Jackie at sixteen, making angel eyes at his dad at the dinner table. Jackie at twenty, gobbling down caviar in a stolen penthouse hotel room in Vancouver, daring him to turn her in. Jackie at twenty-six, telling him to take _that_ back to his big fancy insurance bosses, smashing a gourmet fruit tart in his face and then using the distraction to escape out of a third-floor window.

"You're so Midwestern," Jackie said, shaking her head at him as she carefully pulls her hair back. "Steak and potatoes?"

"You offered."

"No imagination." Jackie had ordered half the menu, it seemed like. It occurred to Eric that she might be planning to hoard the leftovers in case her forged card got flagged. "Try the bouillabaisse, at least."

"Fish soup? What is this, the 40s? We're not living on war rations anymore, Jackie."

"Please," Jackie said with a scoff, holding out a piece of bread. Eric took it, and obediently dipped it in her broth, obliging once more. "It's the flavor that makes the difference."

"Still tastes like fish soup to me," Eric said.

"No imagination or taste," Jackie said, a little fondly. "You really haven't changed."

"I wonder," Eric said, "do you tell people you came from royalty or something? Half the rumors about you involve deposed Russian nobles at one point or another."

"Usually I say I came from 'dirty money' and let them come to their own conclusions," Jackie said with a grin, "it's technically true."

Eric laughed.

"Did you tell your new _team_ about me yet?"

"No," Eric said, sobering. "I told them I knew a grifter. The best in the business." Jackie slowly stops chewing, raising her eyes to regard him over the table. "You tell them what you want."

"Caroline and Buddy will recognize me."

"Caroline definitely, but Buddy? He doesn't even see past his own nose most days," Eric said. "He's in it for the work. Besides, you two barely knew each other."

"Hm," is all Jackie said. "Try the mousse now."

Eric grimaced, but took a bite. "Why does it taste like crab?"

"Because there's fucking crab in it," Jackie said, rolling her eyes. "Philistine."

* * *

"Gotta do a Two-Man Circus Gambit," Jackie said.

"Too risky," Eric said. "We were thinking A Gentleman's Dinner Table."

"What?! That's ridiculous, and no way am I wearing a French maid outfit," Jackie said. "Gentleman's Table, but - the European version. I'm a murdered rich date, not a murdered maid."

"We'll talk about it when we get back to Boston," Eric said, shaking his head. "Please don't tell me you've _done_ a Gentleman's Table before?"

"Not telling," Jackie singsonged, moving away from the window. With her shoes off, padding around in her socks, she looked much closer to the approachable version of his oldest friend - sharp tongued, snooty to the extreme, but still always _approachable._ Even back in high school, when they were both too insecure not to hate each other, she was still always willing to sit on his porch and listen to his stupid problems. Even though she made fun of him for it. "Tell me the truth - you really don't mind me drinking around you?"

"It doesn't bother me. You're a pleasant drunk to be around," Eric said, regarding her through narrow eyes. "Are you drinking because you're in a good mood, or for some other reason?"

"Hm. Both." Jackie slid back into her chair, her wine glass tilting a little dangerously. She sighed as she regarded the remnants of their dinner. "I should wrap all this up."

"I'll do it."

"No, no, I can take care of it - "

"Sit down, Jackie, you're too tipsy to handle fine china," Eric said, nudging her out of the way. She laughed, sharp and loud, and plopped back down in her chair. "See? You really are happy to see me. I knew all that attitude was just for Bradley's sake - "

"You really did blow my cover, you ass!" Jackie swiped lazily at his arm, missing by quite a few inches. "I liked that play. I'm better at the songs when I'm high, though. But I ran out last week. Don't have enough cash for more."

Eric covered up the last of the food in silence. "Do you smoke when you're on a job?"

"No. Don't be stupid. I'd be dead by now if I did," Jackie said, a little more soberly. "Is this a test? Are you job interviewing me now?"

"No." Eric moved in closer and picked up the wine bottle, refilling her glass. "It's just - I'm a little worried about the history, is all. You and me."

"You and _Caroline_ don't have history? You and Buddy Morgan?" Jackie scoffed. "Even your hitter is a family friend."

"It's different and you know it," Eric said.

Jackie took a long gulp of wine, and then set the glass decisively down on the table. "If anyone should be worrying about ending up as collateral damage, it should be me."

"That's not what I mean," Eric said, reaching down to pull the collar of her blouse aside slightly. There, in the notch beneath her collarbone, was the bullet scar from San Antonio. Eric hadn't been able to shake that one off for months - years, really, if he was being honest. He told Donna it was a bad case at work, but almost choked on the words, waking up every night with the memory of how it felt to hold her neck together, feeling every heartbeat in the blood pulsing through his fingers.

Half a dozen encounters like that one - most of them much less life-threatening - in half a dozen cities. Eric chased her with genuine intent, at first, when they were in their early twenties, Eric freshly married and needing to make something of himself, to prove all those points to his dad. But it was _Jackie_ that he was chasing - and she never let him forget it. Somewhere along the way - much sooner than he'd intended - it became more of a game. Which is how it always was - it was fun until it wasn't, until some mark pulled out a gun, a security guard got overzealous, her cover got blown, the con went to shit. Eric had stitched together the cuts in Caroline's cheeks, the night she showed up on his doorstep, shaking like a leaf and beat halfway to hell. Buddy was his second call, and he'd shoved a gun in Eric's face for the entire length of their conversation, lowering it only when he saw Caroline, inching her way in from the window ledge, the bruises still lurid against her skin.

His dumbass, reckless, fucked up team. His people. Eric knew Jackie would fit in like she'd always been there. That was honestly the part about it that scared him the most.

Jackie's face was solemn. She was probably thinking the same sort of thoughts. It had been long enough now that Eric could tell. "Tell me about them."

"Caroline can steal anything," Eric said, sinking down into the seat opposite again. "She's prickly, but not like she used to be - aggressive. She's trying - really trying - to be better. So she's sensitive - gets her feelings hurt easily."

Jackie takes another sip of wine, her face thoughtful.

"Buddy's good with numbers, computers - anything he can hardwire," Eric said. "Cars, lights, security systems, safes. Whatever. But he deflects too much in conversation - people don't trust him. The one time I tried to put him in front of a mark, he almost got arrested."

Jackie snorted.

"Haven't worked with Eli yet, I'm bringing him in for this job," Eric said quietly. "But when I asked Red about him, he got all weird and quiet, which probably means he saved his life or something."

"Eli out of Detroit, Eli?" Jackie asked. "Used to work for Jimmy Holbein?"

"Yeah."

"I've heard of him. He's good." Jackie tilted her head. "I didn't know he knew your dad. Man, it's a small world."

"It tends to be, yeah." Eric raised an eyebrow. "Especially in our line of work."

"'Our,'" Jackie repeated, incredulous. "Right."

"It's been mine too for a long time, regardless of what side I was on. You can ask Donna how she felt about that, and maybe you'll get your answer about the divorce."

"What do I care what Donna thinks?" Jackie said with a scoff. "It's _you_ I care about. Dumbass."

Eric found he didn't have a reply at all, to that.

"I could see you spiraling," Jackie confessed. "That last year, after Rebecca. I heard about the thing with the Monet - your drinking - the fight you had with that bigwig at work - I kept waiting for it to blow over. When you quit K&F I was relieved, I thought it meant you were gonna hole up at home for awhile, let Donna take care of you. Get your head back together."

Eric shook his head. "My head hasn't been together in a long damn time."

Jackie reached out and touched his face, gentle and sympathetic. It was funny, how she'd only learned how to be those things after becoming a thief. Eric always found it funny, how people had to lean halfway over the edge to find the truth of who they were. It was why he'd been so good at his job - he knew how to chase them far enough that they'd get to a point where they'd _want_ to get caught. "So this is your solution? Running around the world, taking down bad guys? You think this is the life you want now?"

"What choice do I have?" Eric asked, his voice scraped raw, bleeding openly in the air between them. "I left Donna because I loved her, I wanted to spare her...this," he said, gesturing around them. "I lied to her for so long about what my job was like - what my _life_ was like - that it wasn't even real intimacy anymore - and we both could tell. She resented me for being gone, I resented her right back, and then Rebecca, and - I just - " Eric shook his head, his shoulders heavy. "Jackie, if I don't find something to do with myself, I'm not gonna make it. I'm gonna drink myself to death in a basement somewhere. I'm not kidding."

"Okay," Jackie replied, tears in her eyes. "Yeah. Okay."

"What was it you told me?" he asked. "When I caught up to you in Vancouver that first time, and found out that it was you? My old buddy's high school girlfriend, of all people - yanking Rodin sketches right out from under my nose - "

"Hey," Jackie said, watery and thin, "I was much more than 'your buddy's girlfriend.' Come on, don't hurt my feelings."

Eric grinned. "'What else am I good for?' That's what you said. You made it sound like a joke, but I knew you meant it."

"I still do," Jackie said. "Some people just aren't cut out for peace and quiet."

"Yeah." Eric reached up and snagged her hand, still playing idly with the collar of his shirt. "And some people find something they're good at, and - can't let it go. They chase it all the way to the end. Even when it kills them."

Jackie's hand clenched in his. "Don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you think I don't know what you're really saying," Jackie said. She jabbed him with her knee. "You're not allowed to be a dumbass, if I'm gonna join your little team. That's rule number one."

Eric smiled at her wryly. "I guess that's fair," he said.

* * *

He slept on the couch. All night, he lay awake, listening to the snuffly sounds of her breath, thinking of a different bedroom in a different city with a very different woman. It was still strange to think of Donna as an ex-anything, let alone an ex-wife. But Eric rather thought it suited them: they certainly got along much better. Sometimes he sent her postcards, and she called him on pay phones and told him funny stories from her office.

They never talked about Rebecca. They could never bear to bring it up to each other. But most days Eric knew she was talking to _somebody_. Most days Eric also knew that he needed a somebody, too.

"Three days," Eric said, after another cup of excellent coffee the next morning. "Here's the address. If you don't show I'll assume you're making like every other woman I've ever loved and rejecting me."

"Funny," Jackie said dryly, slipping the plane ticket into her suitcase so slickly Eric had to smile. He couldn't wait to see her pickpocket. He'd bet anything she was amazing at it: a dancer on a stage. "If I show up at that office and there's a French maid outfit waiting for me, I'm going to scoop your eyeballs out with a spoon."

"Noted," Eric said, with a laugh. Feeling brave, he pulled her in for a kiss, right there in front of the entire lobby. Jackie squeaked a little, stumbling when he let her go. Just a quick impression of body heat - a quick whiff of her shampoo - her hands scrabbling at his shoulders and then darting away again. Eric laughed at her face, feeling courageous and maybe - just a little bit - optimistic. "Sorry," he said, "couldn't help myself. That dress you're wearing - it's the same one from - "

"Yes, I know," Jackie said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "My first wedding." She sounded almost nostalgic. She smoothed down the skirt - off-white lace, once an understated wedding dress, but after years of heavy wear - it looked more like a vintage sundress. Which suited her a bit more than the showy elegance that real rich people favored, Eric thought. Old lace, dressed up with a pair of boots. Antique, stolen jewelry, and bright red lipstick: that was Jackie.

"I was grateful for the invitation," Eric teased, "even though I was technically there to arrest you, I still very much enjoyed the hors d'oeuvres."

"You brought a _cop_ with you!" Jackie cried, scandalized. "An actual cop! I could've killed you."

"You still got away from us," Eric replied, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. "And from your poor husband, too."

"_With_ his pristine copy of Poe's anonymous first printing of _Tamerlane,_ thank you very much," Jackie said crisply. She grinned. "If I knew then - back in your fuddy duddy days - that you'd be standing in front of me now in a con man's suit jacket, sliding me a plane ticket beneath the table - "

"White knight," Eric said, spreading out his hands.

"With a black hat," Jackie replied, reaching up to tug playfully at his tie. "I have a feeling I'll be the one doing the chasing, now."

"Well, I've learned from the best," Eric said. "You better buckle up, baby."

Jackie laughed, tilting her head back to let it loose into the air. Like a bell ringing, announcing her presence - Eric always heard her, before he caught her.

"I'm ready," she said.


End file.
